


If Our Hearts Are Never Broken

by MeganWrites



Series: Alternate Universe [7]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What? You one of those people who ‘don’t believe in love’? You know that’s always bullshit.”</p><p>Ian feels a tug in his chest, he shakes his head and looks down at the ground to avoid Mickey’s prying eyes. “No, I believe in love, I just also believe that love isn’t any good.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Our Hearts Are Never Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is going to start out fluffy, but it will not necessarily end that way.
> 
> Title from the song New York by Snow Patrol
> 
> This was originally going to be a multichapter fic but I have decided to make this a oneshot. Thanks.

It’s at a wedding; the place where Ian meets Mickey.

Lip has a friend at the University of Chicago. Or they're a friend of a friend that Ian isn’t sure how Lip knows, that invited him to their wedding. Lip doesn’t seem so excited about it, but he is insistent they go. He tries to convince Ian, telling him there will be an open bar and that maybe some guy will be looking to experiment. After all, the world outside of Canaryville is supposed to be much more open minded.

(Ian’s still hesitant to believe that’s true. The rest of the world seems the same, only they have a mighty fine illusion of acceptance).

But Ian agrees, because he gets a free suit out of the deal, and there is a chance to meet some influential people with ties to Westpoint. The only downside seems to be the actual event. Ian’s always liked the weddings he’s been to. The ones held in bars and the ceremony lasts less than ten minutes. As Fiona makes a Windsor knot in his tie - the final polished piece of his ensemble - he realizes that this wedding won’t be like that.

And he hates that he ends up being right.

The ceremony goes on forever. There is standing and sitting, praying and kneeling. Ian feels like he may have fallen asleep if he wasn’t made to move around so damn often. Lip whispers to Ian that this is what an authentic Catholic ceremony is like and Ian has never been so glad that his family has more or less given up the faith.

The reception is much nicer. It is much closer to something Ian can recognize and feel comfortable being apart of. Ian sits at the table next to Lip. The tag in front of him doesn’t have his name. Lip tells him it’s because they're just taking up filler spots for a couple who, at the last minute, said they couldn’t come. Ian doesn’t mind. He eats and drinks for free, listening to heartfelt and funny toasts for people he doesn’t give a damn about.

The dance floor opens and Lip’s gone in a flash. There’s some girl he has been eyeing since the ceremony and Ian can tell he’s determined to make something out of it. Ian stays sitting at the table, shrugging out of his suit jacket when he realizes he’s actually a little warm. He’s just rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt when a waiter comes by to pick up the empty or abandoned plates. Ian takes pause, he eyes the waiter up and down. The waiter looks kind of dorky in his attire. The black slacks, a pale pink dress shirt with a black vest over top, and a bright white bow tie - but somehow he still looks good. Maybe it’s the way his hair is slicked back but still looks soft enough to run fingers through. The brilliant blue of his eyes, the way his broad shoulders fill his dress shirt. Or maybe it’s how he’s a little stocky and short but walks in a way that makes him look bigger.  Or the way his mouth seems to be turned down in a natural scowl.

Except, maybe none of those are good reasons to be suddenly, wildly and unexpectedly attracted to someone.

The waiter's eyes flick up to meet Ian’s stare (which he realizes is bordering on creepy now), and Ian thinks that it’s definitely those stunning eyes. He wants to drown in the pools of crystal clear blue. Ian thinks that the waiter might be about to say something - his lower lip dropping and his hand loosening on the plate it’s holding - but instead he just blinks and walks away.

Ian shakes his head and holds back from watching the waiter walk away. He has embarrassed himself enough by staring for so long, and doesn’t want to make the waiter more uncomfortable than he already has. (He stills takes a quick peek though, unable to resist. God, he can list that perky ass under another reason he’s so caught up in this stranger).

Ian leaves the table soon after, deciding that it’s as good a time as any to start trying to network. He saw a group of men in uniform earlier and he’s determined to try and find them.

 

*****

 

Talking to drunk soldiers takes more effort than Ian expected. It’s draining from the second he joins their group to the second he excuses himself. He kept trying to imply that he is interested in the army and Westpoint, but every time he started to speak someone else had a funny story about that _‘one time when the thing happened’_. Ian walks back to his table feeling defeated. Instead of sitting down he decides that he deserves a break. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from Lip’s discarded suit jacket, plucking one out before putting the pack back. He needs something to relax, something to calm him down just a bit.

This whole wedding has been more of a challenge than anything else.

He steps out the door onto a small veranda. Steps leads down to a small green area with a pond and a gazebo. There are willow trees by the pond and taller trees surrounding the area, keeping it completely secluded. The place is beautiful. Ian remembers seeing the wedding party taking photos after the ceremony, but he thinks it may actually be more beautiful now that it is dark. There is something about they way the fairy lights are strung around the trees and railings, lighting up the space.

He places the cigarette between his lips before he realizes that he forgot to grab a lighter. He feels his pockets, just in case, and curses under his breath.

“Rule number one of weddings: never leave the shit you need in your jacket pockets.”

Ian looks to his left and sees the waiter from earlier leaned against the railing and smirking. If possible he looks even better under the dim light.

“Don’t come to many weddings,” Ian says after a beat.

The waiter laughs quietly and nods, “Yeah, I picked up on that.” He pushes away from the railing and walks over to where Ian is standing, pulling out a lighter. “See, I’ll make you a little deal, I forgot my smokes inside but I’ve got a lighter. You let me have a couple puffs, I’ll let you light it.”

Ian feels a flutter in his chest at the sudden closeness of the waiter, he swallows and nods, unable to find the words to say yes.

The waiter grins and grabs the cigarette from Ian’s hand, lighting it and taking a long drag. He smiles up at Ian, sly and lazy, his tongue trailing over his lower lip. “You’re doing that creepy shit again,” He says.

Ian blinks, blushing a brilliant red at the waiters words. “Sorry,” Ian mumbles, “I’m drunk, so-”

“You’re drunk, so you make shitty excuses for staring at the help like you want to eat them alive?”

“Excuse me?”

The waiter shakes his head and passes the cigarette over to Ian, “Don’t worry about it, man, just teasing ya.” He leans back against the railing again, letting the greenery become a backdrop for whenever Ian dares to look back at him.

Ian takes a drag and decides to be a little brave, saying, “It’s just, you’re really fucking hot.”

The waiter's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It is like he expected Ian to be more awkward than honest, but that’s just not the way Ian does things. After living in Canaryville for so long Ian’s picked up on subtle clues that mean a guy is attracted to him. He learned a long time ago that when you see those signs you need to be bold and the waiter’s showing all the signs.

“Forward, huh? I like that,” The waiter confesses. He steals the cigarette back from Ian and smiles, “I’m Mickey.”

“Ian.”

“Ian, huh? That’s a fuckin’ boy scouts name if I ever heard one,” Mickey snarks. He grins playfully when Ian furrows his brow in confusion. “I saw you talkin’ with the army guys, put two and two together.”

Ian grins, “Now who’s staring, creep.”

Mickey shrugs, unfazed by Ian’s words, “See something I like, can’t quite help myself.”

“Forward,” Ian quips.

Mickey flashes a salacious grin, “Thought that was the way we were playing it now.”

Ian’s about to respond, or fuck, maybe just bend Mickey back over the railing and kiss him senseless. He’s not sure what he wants to do, but he knows it’s something. His brain is starting to short-circuit just being around this guy.

A loud beeping noise cuts through Ian’s thoughts and Mickey pulls out his phone. He looks at the clock with a deep frown and turns off the alarm. “Breaks just about over,” Mickey tells him.

“What are you doing once you’re off work?” Ian asks impulsively. He just knows that he wants this to continue. Unable to stand the idea that this might be the first and last time he talks to Mickey.

“Nothing, but I can’t,” Mickey says. He sounds at least somewhat regretful when passing the cigarette back to Ian.

“What?”

“You’re gonna ask if we can hang out, or go somewhere, do something - but I can’t.”

Ian frowns, confused by the sudden turnaround in Mickey’s mood. One second it seemed like Ian was about to get his dick sucked and now Mickey’s too busy. It doesn’t make sense. “I don’t understand, why?”

Mickey has a heavy sigh, tilting his head back and forth. Finally he says, “You’re a boyfriend guy, I can tell, and I’m not a boyfriend guy. It just won’t work, sorry.”

“I’m not a boyfriend guy,” Ian dismissed, finding himself bitter and offended by Mickey’s assumption. “I don’t want a boyfriend, ever.”

Mickey frowns, eyes dancing over Ian’s face, tracing the shape of his lips and the sharp edge of his jaw. It’s like he’s trying to reassess, figure out where he went wrong and why.

“What? You one of those people who _‘don’t believe in love_ ’? You know that’s always bullshit.”

Ian feels a tug in his chest, he shakes his head and looks down at the ground to avoid Mickey’s prying eyes. “No, I believe in love,” he turns his gaze to the pond just past the railing. He watches the way a gust of wind causes a ripple and then another a second later. “I just also believe that love isn’t any good.”

“No?”

Ian turns back to Mickey. Mickey is leaned against the railing, all his attention focused solely on Ian as he waits for an answer. Ian’s lips tug at the corners, an involuntary smile working its way onto his face.

“No,” he answers, almost too soft to hear.

Mickey huffs out a laugh. He reaches forward to grab the cigarette from where it is perched between Ian’s fingers. His knuckles graze the back of Ian’s hand and leaving a warm trail behind. “Why do you think that?” Mickey asks, taking a long drag.

Ian hums, eyes glued to the way the cigarette sits between Mickey’s lips, “Have you ever been in love?” Ian finds himself asking.

Mickey smiles brightly, like it is a question he’s been waiting for. “No,” he says.

Ian steps forward, hears a small hitch in Mickey’s breath and feels the heat radiating off his body. He lifts his hand, pulling the cigarette from Mickey’s lips and placing it between his own. “If you’d been in love before,” Ian starts, his voice low and thick, “You wouldn’t believe it was any good either.”

“What makes you think I don’t believe that too?” Mickey asks, breath fanning over Ian’s cheek, looking up from beneath thick, dark lashes.

Ian heart pounds loudly, his mind caught up in the smell of Mickey and the feel of him so close. He admires the way Mickey's cheeks are tinged pink from the cold and how his lips look so supple and warm. Ian wants to know what he tastes like.

“Do you?” Ian asks, mind foggy with lust.

Mickey leans forward, his body brushing against Ian’s as he puts his lips to Ian’s ear.

“I don’t believe in love.”

And then he pulls away, grinning slyly as he turns, walking away with the stolen cigarette dangling from his lips.

 

*****

 

Lip tells Ian that he’s going home with Amanda, which means nothing to Ian since he doesn’t know who Amanda is. Ian considers questioning Lip but sees the way he is waiting impatiently for Ian to give him approval to leave. Ian just nods and waves Lip off, getting a cheeky grin and a heavy pat on the arm before Lip takes off to the doors.

Ian sighs and pulls on his suit jacket. The reception is dwindling down, Ian should have left hours ago. The only reason he stayed was the small chance of running into Mickey again - which unfortunately did not happen. He hadn’t even seen a glimpse of Mickey since coming back inside, leaving a heavy and sad weight in Ian’s chest.

There is something about Mickey that is so enticing; Ian just knows he needs to see him again.

Ian steps outside and the wind causes a chill to rush up his spin. He immediately regrets not leaving before the trains stopped running. He checks his phone to see if there are any bus routes still going near him and is lucky to find one only a couple blocks away. He wraps his arms around his torso and begins to walk, the suit jacket doing nothing to block the sharp and cold wind. When Ian reaches the bus stop he’s a little peeved to see that someone else is already sitting in the bus shelter. They are smoking with a large jacket on and the hood up. Ian almost decides to wait outside the shelter - all he wanted was to be alone. But after another sharp chill hits him, Ian amends his decision and shuffles into the shelter to sit beside the stranger.

Ian doesn’t bother looking over, he saw the peek of a white cord for earbuds or headphones. He knows that even if he tried to make small talk the other person wouldn’t hear him.

“To be really fuckin’ honest, man, I think stalking is taking this creepy shit to a new level.”

Ian swears he pinches a nerve in his neck from the speed he turns his head. Just the sound of Mickey’s voice sends a sudden jolt through him, reviving him after the less than satisfactory night. Ian tries to think of something witty to say in return, but is too shocked at his luck for his brain to be functioning well.

Instead he says, “Holy shit.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a small smirk, “What?”

“Nothing, uh, hey,” Ian says, trying to salvage his dignity just the slightest bit. “I didn’t know you took the bus.”

“Me?” Mickey questions, eyebrows shooting even higher. “I’m the server, this is pretty fuckin’ typical for us poor shits. What about you? Fancy rich shit taking the bus? Didn’t feel like taking home Mommy and Daddy’s Bentley?”

Ian snorts and shoves his hands in his pockets, “The only Bentley my parents have ever had was one they stole for a joyride.” Ian watches in amusement as Mickey’s face contorts in confusion. Deciding to give him a break, Ian says, “My brother goes to College with some guy who knew some other guy and got us a last minute invite. The suits were part of the deal and going back tomorrow morning. I work part time as a dishwasher at a shitty old diner, barely making minimum wage.”

Mickey grins around the filter of his cigarette and leans back against the glass of the shelter too. “Well, fancy that. I knew there was somethin’ I liked about you.”

“That I’m an unsuccessful high school dropout?” Ian teases but can’t help the bitter tone that reaches his words.

Mickey frowns and takes a long drag. “Man, if you don’t grow up with parents shoving money in your pockets then graduating high school is a fuckin’ miracle. Who needs that shit anyways? The only people who need a fuckin’ diploma are the ones going to college, and if you don’t got money already then you ain’t goin’. I dropped out at fuckin’ fourteen and I’m fine.”

Ian feels warmed by Mickey’s words. It is the first time anyone has ever made him feel even a little okay about his choices. Both Fiona and Lip keep shoving it down his throat that he needs to go back and finish high school. Just a few more courses and then he can have that diploma. Except, it feels like too much now - too stressful - a lot of things feel that way since he got out of the hospital. Fiona and Lip don’t seem to understand, neither does Debbie anymore. They don’t get that he needs to take this slow, needs to be okay where he is right now before he can change things up. They have this idea that since he has found a good cocktail of medication, somehow that means he is cured.

For a family so familiar with Bipolar Disorder, they actually really aren’t.

“Yeah,” Ian says, smiling, “Yeah, me too.”

Ian sees the bus turning the corner and feels a tinge of sadness knowing that his time with Mickey is limited. He wants to ask for Mickey’s phone number but is nervous that he’ll just be rejected once again. But still, Mickey would be worth getting rejected twice, Ian thinks.

In the end, he doesn’t have to ask.

“You going home now?” Mickey asks, dropping the stub of his cigarette and squashing it with his clunky boot.

Ian shrugs, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Mickey runs his tongue over his lower lip, the bus comes to a stop and the doors swing open. “Don’t go home just yet,” Mickey says before standing and walking onto the bus.

Ian grins and follows him on board.

 

*****

 

Mickey lives in a motel, he says it’s not permanent, just that he is between places right now. Ian senses that there’s more to it, that there’s a story behind Mickey’s hesitation, but he doesn’t ask. All he can think now is that he’s following Mickey to a room. Mickey pulling him through the door and pushing him onto the mattress. His mind is full of nothing but lust and desire. God, it feels like he’s been waiting centuries for this.

Mickey’s hands are rough but gentle, gliding up his sides, tugging away his layers, running through his hair. He kisses Ian’s neck, his collar, his chest - a wet trail left as his makes his way lower and lower, sucking Ian down before Ian’s even aware that he is naked. Mickey’s mouth is perfect and warm, tongue swirling just right at the head and then pressing perfectly along the shaft. Ian is in bliss, nails digging into Mickey’s scalp, staring at Mickey with wide eyes and parted lips, muttering, “Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Mickey’s pulls off, lips puffy and red, Ian has to taste him. He hauls Mickey from where he’s knelt on the floor between Ian’s knees. He slams him on the bed and climbs over top of him. He kisses Mickey hard, tongues tangling and teeth clashing as he tears away Mickey’s clothes like a rabid animal. He feels like he’s completely lost himself to this burning need to be with Mickey.

The compulsion to touch Mickey, to be inside Mickey.

Mickey pulls away for a second, grabbing lube and a condom to shove at Ian’s chest with a significant look. Ian growls and drags Mickey into ravenous kiss, wasting no time as he starts prepping Mickey. He relishes the tiny exhaled breath as he first pushes a finger past the rim of Mickey’s asshole. Ian works with haste, he knows what he wants. And Ian knows that despite the symphony of beautiful quiet gasps and moans Mickey is making, he can’t stand to wait any longer.

He thrusts in, gasps at the tight warmth as it engulfs him, drawing him in deeper and deeper until he feels like he’s crawled inside Mickey’s skin. He pulls back and the drives back in deeper. Mickey makes more of those beautiful noises, each tumbling out of his mouth, like he is unaware it is even happening. Ian doesn’t want this to end, this feeling of wholeness: completion. He doesn’t remember a time before this that it has felt this good. Maybe once or twice it could have come close, but this - (the way Mickey effortlessly falls into Ian’s rhythm, the drag of Mickey’s fingers through Ian’s hair, the scratches at his back, the mosaic of mouth shaped bruises over his neck and collarbone) - can’t be matched.

“Oh fuck, so close, c’mon,” Mickey voice is hoarse, completely wrecked and so quiet. It invigorates Ian. He goes deeper, harder, earning a litany of curses mixed with moans from Mickey. It’s so good, so perfect; he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel it. There’s a heat, burning and pulsing, so close to bursting - _he’s so fucking close._

He holds on, just barely, until he sees Mickey’s mouth drop open, eyes screwed shut and exhaling loudly as he comes. The sight pushes Ian over the edge, holding himself up as he reaches his own orgasm. His vision goes white for a second, his limbs shaking, and he’s sure he’s moaning so loudly, God, how could he not be. Ian comes back to himself a moment later, collapsed on top of Mickey and breathing heavily. Mickey’s breath matches his own as he brushes the tips of his fingers through Ian’s hair. The strokes soothing Ian as he comes down from the high.

Neither of them speak for a long stretch of time. They just let the silence blanket the room, happy to settle into the afterglow and relax.

“Ian,” Mickey's tentative words interrupt the quiet. Ian lifts his head from where he’s rested against Mickey’s chest. Mickey raises a sharp eyebrow and says,  “You’re a fucking good lay.”

Ian starts laughing, unable to stand how ridiculous and wonderful the guy he somehow stumbled upon is. “Good doesn’t even begin to cover how incredible that was,” Ian states, taking the opportunity  to stretch his neck and kiss Mickey.

Mickey smiles into the kiss, moving his hand to rest on the back of Ian’s neck and pull him in closer. When they part Mickey is still smiling, tracing his lower lip with his tongue (as if Ian needs anymore of a reason to be staring at his lips).

“Guess it is,” Mickey whispers. Ian crushes their lips together once again, unable to stand not kissing Mickey for second longer.

 

*****

 

It’s a curt goodbye in the morning, Ian didn’t expect much else. They don’t exchange numbers or ask when they can see the other again (even though Ian fucking does want to see Mickey again). But it doesn’t feel right.

Being with Mickey, having that night, was something special.

Ian's fucking freakshow of a life tends to taint special things, special moments, special people. Mickey and being with Mickey fits into all those categories. Ian can’t stand the idea of Mickey being ruined by touching reality.

So it is a curt goodbye in the morning. Ian smiles and Mickey smiles. Both of them seem to understand what the other wants without words needing to be exchanged. Ian gives Mickey one chaste kiss and then he’s out the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

He feels giddy and nostalgic already. He manages to only turn to look back at Mickey’s motel room door twice before he’s too far away to see it anymore. He bites down on his lower lip, but not even that can suppress his grin. His night with Mickey - his perfect, amazing night with Mickey - will be one of his fondest memories.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


End file.
